


she was a sk8r grl she said see you l8r grl

by ShippingEverything



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Skating, Anna Is Marianna Wheelan, Anna is a lesbian, F/F, Meet-Cute, Pre-Slash, ernst captains a rec league and anna is a semi pro figure skater, its all very fun, thats not important to the plot but it's just true shrug, who gets pulled into a hockey practice by wendla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-01 07:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16760440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything
Summary: Wendla turns back to Anna, “Say, do you skate?”“I mean, a little?” Anna hears her mouth say, even as her brain screams a High School Musical worthyOh no, no, no!or: anna is a Very gay figure skater and wendla is a pretty hockey player





	she was a sk8r grl she said see you l8r grl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feelssogoodinmyarms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelssogoodinmyarms/gifts).



> i've been writing this fic for a Very long time, but i'd like to dedicate it being finally finished and posted to tumblr user [feelssogoodinmyarms](https://feelssogoodinmyarms.tumblr.com/), who coined the term "fairywheels" for this ship and set my heart ablaze. beautiful name for a beautiful ship
> 
> please enjoy this Very Niche fic that i've worked very hard on!

“Thanks again,” Ernst Robel says as he leads Anna from the parking lot. They both have their arms full of duffel bags, because Ernst needed help moving stuff to the ice rink where he plays rec hockey and Anna is too nice for her own good.

“Well, it's a good thing I started working on my arms,” Anna jokes, shifting to readjust the bags in her arms. She’s smiling, but her arms are killing her; it’s been a short walk from Ernst’s car but the bags are heavy and she’s carrying enough to obscure her vision. Besides, she hasn’t been consistent with her arm day gym routine and she’s pretty sure this is cosmic punishment.

Ernst turns his head to the side to grin at her, before stepping forward and kicking the door twice. Anna still can't see anything over the bags -- even though she’s only holding a few, she’s still tiny -- but she hears the door open and someone yell, “Boat’s here!” followed by a cacophony of noise, including one particularly loud voice that yells, “Fuck, _already_?”

“I texted the entire group chat to tell you guys that I'd be here,” Ernst says, his voice fondly exasperated.

“You know how it is, Boat,” The first voice says. Anna shifts awkwardly. Her arms are killing her and she’s not entirely sure why they’re calling Ernst ‘ _Boat_ ’ and she’s overall vaguely regretting all of this.

“Uh,” Anna starts, only to be interrupted by the other person.

“ _Ro_ , one of us could’ve gotten this, you didn’t have to drag someone else in.”

“Anna volunteered!” Ernst yells, trying to defend himself. The person doesn’t seem to buy it.

“Just go inside and rally your team,” They click their tongue. “I can't believe he was making you help him. Let me take some of that.”

“Oh no, you don't have to-” Anna tries to say, but they're already taking a three of the four bags that Anna was carrying. Anna, her vision no longer obstructed, blinks dumbly, because the person who’s taken the bags from her is _gorgeous_. They have deeply tanned skin and long, thick black hair, and they’re dressed in what Anna would assume is the bottom half of a hockey uniform, a sports bra, and shoulder pads.

“I told him we would handle it… Then again, seeing as I'm the only person who’s even half ready, maybe he was right to doubt us,” They say, laughing, “I'm Wendla Bergmann, by the way, she pronouns. You can call me Bergy though.”

“Bergy?” Anna asks.

“It’s a nickname,” Wendla says, “Hockey, you know?” Anna doesn’t know--she’s a figure skater, not a hockey player, and she’s not particularly into the sport--but she nods anyway. Wendla shrugs. “It’s what all my friends call me, and a friend of Boat is a friend of mine.”

Anna somehow manages to nod and string together words despite her mind screaming _She called you her friend!_ “I'm Anna, Anna Wheelan, she-her also. Nice to meet you, Bergy”

She smiles at Anna, bright and cheerful and pretty, and Anna’s stomach flips. Wendla effortlessly shifts all the heavy bags to one arm so that she can offer a hand to Anna. She’s _so strong_. “Nice to meet you, Anna.”

Anna takes Wendla’s hand. They shake once, a fluid movement that makes the muscles in Wendla’s arm shift in an incredibly attractive way. Anna’s probably melting a little inside.

“Yo, Berg!” A head sticks out of the door, hair short and spiked and bright green, “Boat wants his practice stuff.”

“Come get it then, Pape, I gotta ask Boat’s friend a question,” Wendla yells back. The other person walks out, takes the bags from Wendla, and returns inside. Wendla turns back to Anna, “Say, do you skate?”

Anna hesitates. She hasn’t skated in anything that wasn’t a custom made figure skate in over a decade. The smart thing to do here would be pretending she’s never stepped foot on ice before in her life. The smart thing to do would be to say no.

“I mean, a little?” Anna hears her mouth say, even as her brain screams a High School Musical worthy _Oh no, no, no!_

Wendla lights up. Anna immediately knows that this is going to end with her on hockey skates, pretending to know how to play hockey. “You should play with us!”

“Oh, no, I’m not-”

“Practices are just glorified shinny anyway,” Wendla says, placing a calming hand on Anna’s arm. Heat radiates from it. Anna thinks, _God, I’m gay_. “Really, it’s nothing intense.”

“I, uh…” Anna doesn’t know what shinny is. She doesn’t know how to lace up hockey skates. She’s never even held a hockey stick in her _life_. “I don’t have my skates. Or a… stick?”

“We have extras! Of everything, skates, sticks, pads,” Wendla pauses, looking deeply into Anna’s eyes. She grabs Anna’s hands in her own. _I’m incredibly_ _gay_ , Anna thinks as her heart pounds wildly in her chest. “Please say you will, Brandy is out today and we’re down a wing, and we could get by with Pape playing eternal offense, but it’d be great if you could play with us.”

“I,” Anna starts, looking into Wendla’s big, dark, beautiful, earnest eyes. “I mean… sure?”

Wendla breaks into a grin like a partial eclipse, breaktaking, blinding, bright. She releases one of Anna’s hands and uses the other to pull her inside. “Boat, your friend’s gonna play with us!”

“Who- _Anna_?”

“Yeah, she said she’d take Brandy's spot.” Ernst raises a single disbelieving eyebrow. He looks at Wendla, then at Anna, then at their attached hands. He sighs deeply and runs a hand over his face. “Fine. Sure. I’ll get her geared up, go finish getting ready and get them on the ice, Bergy.”

As soon as Wendla’s gone, Ernst gives Anna a _look_. “You’re so gay.”

“I’m _so_ gay,” Anna groans, “I don’t even know anything about hockey. She said it was like.. ‘shin-knee’ or something?”

“Shinny,” Ernst corrects, then, at her blank stare, elaborates, “It’s a nickname for pond hockey, super informal stuff, even more than a beer league already is.”

“So she was right.”

“Of course she was, she’s my first A. We’re a rec league, we’re not that good, and our practices are circuses,” He says, “But there’s still a problem here, Anna: you _don’t know hockey_.”

“This was a mistake, but a mistake I have to follow through on. I need your help.”

Ernst groans, but leads Anna into a storage closet. He asks for her measurements, which she has memorized for costume fittings, and grabs gear, leading her into the locker room. He hands her the pile of fabric and guards.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” She says.

Ernst nods. “I know. And, God help us, I’m going to teach you.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Anna is dressed, bundled in what feels like fifty pounds of gear and fabric.

“How do hockey players move?” She asks, longing for her own lightweight, skintight ice-skating costumes. She can step, albeit more slowly than what she’s used to. The skates are looser than she’s used to around the arches, and tighter around the ankle, not to mention the excess of lace tied around the top of the skate. It’s all just foreign enough to make her uncomfortable.

“It’s easier when you’re on the ice,” Ernst says, and begins leading her from the locker room to the ice, “Just be grateful that you didn’t agree to play goalie for us. Though, you are flexible enough for it…” Anna reaches into her limited hockey knowledge and pulls out the image of someone _buried_ in gear, having fast pucks shot directly at them. “No thanks.”

Ernst laughs at whatever face she’s making, but continues, “You don’t even have to worry about blocking shots, you’ll be taking Brandy spot at wing.”

Anna nods. “Okay. And… what does that mean, exactly?”

“You’re the offense, like… do you know anything about soccer?” Anna stares blankly at Ernst. Ernst has known Anna for decades, so he knows that she doesn’t actively watch any sports besides figure skating and Dance Moms. Ernst sighs. “Okay, so, there’s six players on ice at a time for each team. A goalie, two D’s--defenders, sorry--and three forwards. You’ll be in Brandy's spot, since her daughter’s sick and she’s home to take care of that, so you’ll be a forward. All you have to do it hold your stick to the ice and skate. Stay out of the corners, don’t crash into the walls, and if you ever get the puck… Well, I think your best bet is just hitting it as hard as you can towards the net. No one expects you to be good, just to fill in.”

“Hey!” Anna interjects. “I might be good!”

Ernst raises an eyebrow. “You literally didn’t know how to hold a stick ten minutes ago. You don’t even know the rules.”

He certainly has her there, still, “I’m great at skating, and this is just skating with… extras.”

Ernst hums, still clearly disbelieving. “Alright. But I’m still going to tell whoever you’re on a line with to take it easy on you.”

Anna wants to respond, but they’ve reached the entrance of the rink. Ernst puts two fingers to his mouth and whistles, and about twenty heads turn towards the two of them.

“Great, you were able to find stuff that fit!” Wendla pumps a fist, grinning. Anna realizes, for the first time, that just _pretending that none of the gear fit her_ was an option all along and despairs a bit, but it’s too late. Wendla continues, “Everyone, this is Boat’s friend, Wheels. She’s going to take Brandy's spot for today.”

Anna nervously looks out on the ice. About sixteen hockey players stare back at her. “Hi. I’m, uh, Wheels, I guess?”

Wendla grins at Anna. “A hockey nickname. We can’t just call you _Anna_ out there.”

Anna smiles weakly back, feeling her insides turn to goo. _Why am I_ so weak _for pretty girls?_ Behind her, Ernst sighs loudly and asks, “So she’s with Brandy's normal line? Chen, Bess! Over here, I want to talk to you.”

“And I’ll take Wheels on the rounds,” Wendla says, taking Anna’s hand and stepping onto the ice.

Anna follows her cautiously, but it’s shockingly easy to get into her normal rhythms. She’s more aware of her feet, of how she shifts on the rounded blades, but for the most part it’s just like normal -- well, minus the heavy gear and the stick awkwardly in her hand. As she’s introduced to more people than she could possibly remember -- All with their own bizarre hockey nickname, like “Pape” and “Lamb” and “Bruiser” -- she can see Ernst briefing two people, presumably her linemates. Wendla skates her over, and Anna manages to hear the tail end of a sentence -- “-get hit, I swear to-” -- before Ernst cuts himself off.

“Captain,” Wendla says, with mock severity and a salute, though she’s still smiling. Ernst rolls his eyes but smiles back. “We’re at your disposal.”

“Get the kids to run some skating drills. We’ll do a short practice, since Brandy isn’t here, just a few drills, some shooting, and a few rounds of overtime practice,” Ernst says, and Anna caught _maybe_ half of that. “I’ll introduce Anna -- Wheels, sorry -- to her lineys.”

It might just be Anna’s wishful thinking, but Wendla seems almost reluctant to leave. Still, she does eventually, whistling and calling the rest of the team over. Ernst lets out another breath and pinches the space between his eyes.

“Okay, so, this is Hanschen Rilow, he-him, and this is Martha Bessell, they-them,” Ernst says, pointing to the Filipino man and the black person he’d been speaking to in turn. “Chen and Bess. Chen’s a winger, usually, but he knows how to center so he’s going to do that for you today. You remember what a center is?”

“Playmaker,” Anna says, though she’s still only half sure on what _that_ means. Ernst seems to know that, but he doesn’t do anything but send her a skeptical look.

“Right. Just, listen to Chen and try your best, okay? And Bess is just a wonderful teammate and person overall, so they’re going to try and make sure the defenders stay off you. Pass them the puck if you ever get it, okay?”

“Got it.”

“Excellent.” Ernst claps his hands together, still kind of giving off _God, I’m suffering_ vibes but looking a bit more like a captain, “If you get hurt, your coach will physically kill both you and me, not to mention what your mother will do to me. This is going to be fine.”

“Coach is a huge softy,” Anna says, waving his concerns off, “And my mom would understand that I made this choice.”

Ernst shoots her another skeptical look but ultimately decides it’s not worth it, shaking his head. He leads Anna over to the bench and says, “You can relax until we start the practice matches. Don’t need an extra player for drills.”

The part of Anna that’s just got used hockey skates and wants to keep trying them out almost argues, but then she watches as two skaters collide at nearly full speed because they’re not paying attention and how everyone just _laughs it off_ and _starts again_. “Yeah, I think that’d be a good idea.”

Ernst pats her on the arm and skates back to join his team. Anna doesn’t know much about hockey, obviously, even with Ernst’s crash course, but she watches the drills. She’s always thought that hockey was an ugly sport, due to her experiences with the dudebro hockey players who leave the ice sometimes before her practice, who were loud and brutish, the kind of men that she couldn’t ever imagine doing anything _nice_ , but there’s almost something elegant about the team as they skate suicides and laps and figure eights in sync. Then, it’s pure fun as they switch to shooting drills, which apparently just mean that the goalie and the backup goalie -- Ritz and Leet, Anna thinks -- sit in the goals and defend as the players try and score the most ridiculous and showy goals possible. If Anna’s being honest with herself, she ends up watching Wendla more often than anyone else; even with her helmet covering most of her face, she’s still radiant. Anna watches as Wendla smirks and jokes with her friends, as her face lights up when she has an idea, as she exuberantly celebrates and fist pumps when she makes a goal on either goalies and then immediately gives them a fistbump as if to say _“Great job anyway”_. She’s so busy watching Wendla in fact, that she barely even notices when it’s time to start the match.

“This is your cue,” Hanschen says, skating up to the bench and stopping sloppily, spraying ice everywhere. “Come on out and show us what you’ve got.”

Anna swallows thickly but steels herself. She doesn’t hop over the wall -- she’s seen others do it but she’s pretty sure she’d end up flat on her face if she tried it -- but she manages to get herself onto the ice nonetheless. Hanschen bumps her gently, and she’s ashamed at how easily she wobbles.

“Sorry, didn’t want to bowl you over,” He says, but his eyes look a bit too teasing for his smile to seem genuine. Anna frowns. “Bess and I will try and keep the puck away from you so you don’t have to do much besides dodge checks and keep your stick down. And try not to trip, alright, Ice Princess?”

Anna narrows her eyes at Hanschen. “You’re kind of a dick.”

Hanschen’s eyes widen and he chuckles, surprised. Martha, skating by, shouts, “It’s all part of his charm.”

Anna rolls her eyes, and squares her shoulders, taking cues on where to stand during the puck drop from everyone else. _An overtime period is five minutes_ , she thinks, _I just have to survive for five minutes._

To her credit, it's a lot easier than she'd expected. The skates still catch her off guard but for the most part she's able to keep up with her side. She even makes a few decent passes, through none of them lead to goals. It's not until Ernst yells, from his spot refereeing, _“Sixty seconds!”_ that she gets distracted.

Unfortunately, that short moment of distraction is enough for her to let the other team's defender get too close. Martha and Hanschen -- while both wide open because she, _somehow_ , has the puck -- are too far to protect her. The defender is too close to out-maneuver and too fast to cleanly avoid. Anna _really_ doesn't want to get hit because the checks, for all they've been legal so far, have knocked even the _experienced_ players off their skates. With the defender bearing down on her, Anna sends the puck towards Martha and, running on instinct, jumps.

It's nothing clean, because there's no way that it could be in a rush and on rented skates, but her momentum and her training allow her to spin-jump out of being knocked flat on her ass, even if the landing's so wobbly that, despite dropping her stick and putting her arms out for balance, she still falls. If Anna was being particularly charitable and judging the work of a child who just started skating, she might call what she just attempted a half Lutz.

“Helluva spin-a-rama!” Someone -- Gabs, Anna thinks at a second's glance -- yells from the sideline as Anna pushes herself up, rubbing at a spot where she _knows_ she's going to bruise, but commotion at the other end of the ice catches Anna's eye.

Anna's Hail Mary toss seems to have actually connected with Martha, so with the other team's only defender busy with Anna, Martha's been able to get the puck to the other side of the rink. They speed around the back of the goal and shoot at a frankly ridiculous angle. Anna expects another quick and easy block by the goalie, but it seems that they hadn't been able to follow Martha as easily as Anna had, so as the team counts down the final seconds of the match, Anna watches the puck slide it's way across the goal line.

“Goal!” Anna yells, because it seems like the thing to say and because she legitimately can't believe she was a part of a goal. Martha turns to her, grinning.

“Not bad for a first assist, eh, Wheels?”

Anna smiles back at them, nodding. “It was a great goal, Bess.”

Hanschen skates into Anna, tapping his shoulder against hers gently. It startles her a bit but doesn't ruin her balance. She still narrows her eyes at Hanschen as he says, “Pretty good game. We might make a hockey player of you yet, Ice Princess.”

“You wish,” Anna replies, bumping him back and skating to the sidelines to allow the next team to take the ice.

Anna watches the rest of the games in high spirits, with running commentary from Martha (on useful things like how hockey works, what play just happened, and why a penalty was called) and Hanschen (on team gossip, like who's seeing who and who Hanschen, personally, dislikes). When it's finally over, Anna almost regrets it. Almost, because the spot on her thigh _is_ bruising and also because hockey gear is very heavy.

She follows the rest of the team into the locker room, joining in on the teasing even as she struggles to get the gear off (trying to remember how Ernst helped her get it on and work in reverse is only minimally helpful). Eventually people start trickling out.

“You ready to go?” Ernst, who looks better for having been able to work some stress out by playing, asks.

“For sure,” Anna replies, getting ready to head out. A hand on her arm stops her, and Anna looks back to see Wendla, frowning at her.

“Would you mind hanging back for a sec?”

Anna's immediate response is _No, of course not! Anything for you!_ but she looks at Ernst to see if he, as her ride, would be okay with it. He raises an eyebrow at Wendla but nods, so Anna says, “I guess that'd be fine!”

“I'll wait in the car,” Ernst says. He pats Wendla on the shoulder as he passes and mutters something to her that makes her flush, and leaves Wendla and Anna alone.

Wendla doesn't meet Anna's eyes as they stand in silence, biting her lip and looking somewhere over Anna’s shoulder. Eventually, she says, “I didn’t ask what kind of skating you did, did I?”

Anna furrows her brow, confused. “I’m sorry?”

“No, I am,” Wendla says, and it’s now that Anna realizes that the expression on her face -- the frown, the flush, the nerves -- is _bashfulness_. “I just assumed that you meant that you'd played _hockey_ but…”

“Oh!” Anna says, eyes widening. The cat’s out of the bag, apparently. She laughs nervously and asks, “What gave me away?”

“I started out figure skating, before I figured out that I wasn’t good enough to make it big; I only started playing hockey because I missed being on the ice. I know what a half Lutz looks like, and no amateur could make it look that good on the fly,” Wendla says, “Especially not when they’re just trying to avoid a hit.”

“It was barely a half Lutz,” Anna mumbles, still put out by her fall.

“The point is,” Wendla says, voice heavy with regret, frowning and still not really looking at Anna. “You were just trying to help your friend and you got waylaid by some dumb jock who forced you into hockey skates and-”

“Hey,” Anna interrupts, taking Wendla’s hand. Wendla’s eyes snap up to hers in shock. Anna holds eye contact and -- more seriously than she thinks the situation deserves, though it’s how Wendla seems to need to hear it -- says, “I could’ve backed out at any time. I had a lot of fun today.”

“Even if you’re really a figure skater?”

“Especially if I’m really a figure skater,” Anna says, “Besides, my coach would kill me if he knew what I did today, and I always live for making his blood pressure go up.”

Wendla laughs, and it beautifully clears up the tense atmosphere. “So you wouldn’t mind doing this again?” “... Well. Maybe it’d be best if I didn’t, I get enough bumps from my own practices, thanks,” Anna says, grimacing and massaging her leg. She’s so busy dreading how that’s going to bruise that she almost misses the way that Wendla’s face drops at the words. _Almost_. “But maybe, uh, maybe you could try my sport next time? At least _you_ have some experience.”

“I haven’t figure skated in almost eight years, but I think that’d make us about even,” Wendla says, then, almost shyly, “Do you want to exchange numbers, so you can let me know when you manage to book some ice time, between training and making your coach’s blood pressure rise, that is.”

Anna thinks that maybe she’s a touch _too_ enthusiastic when she says “ _Yes!_ ” but Wendla doesn’t seem to mind. Anna leaves with a promise of texting soon and all but dances out to Ernst’s car.

“You’re so gay,” Ernst says, fondly.

Anna beams, already looking up when she can reserve some extra time on the rink. “I am _so_ gay.”

**Author's Note:**

> [here's a Small Coda of ernst helping anna figure out hockey gear](http://nacreousglowclouds.tumblr.com/post/179292330269/anna-and-ernsts-hockey-gear-adventure-im-going) for ur enjoyment. the main regret i have for this fic that there's Not Enough Hockey also that i acted like any hockey player has played for five straight minutes Ever when shifts average at fourty-five seconds a piece
> 
> thank you so much for reading! comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc fill my soft human soul. 
> 
> [Main Tumblr (pldubrahs)](http://www.pldubrahs.tumblr.com) | [Writing Tumblr (nacreousglowclouds)](http://nacreousglowclouds.tumblr.com/) | [Personal Twitter (@squidias)](http://twitter.com/squidias)


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